Netanya's Market in December is fragrant with guavas, enormous ruby pomegranates, and mountains of sweet sweet strawberries. From stall to stall, voices call you to taste and buy, "Yalla yalla tut sadeh! Bring some home for Shabbat". Two men are betting across the walkway. The one selling 14 kinds of shiny olives says that Maccabi Netanya will win tonight's soccer game, the one squeezing pomegranate juice insists it will be teko. "Teko": a tie in a soccer game, or a stalemate in chess. You hear the term often. It's actually an acronym right from Talmud, meaning that we won't reconcile this difference now. Eliyahu HaNavi, Eliyahu haTishbi, will tell us the answer, when he comes. In that perfect time, of course we'll find out who really won all those games across the millenia. Until then, all of those undecided matches are flippantly declared "teko". When will we learn, in this troubled part of the world, to say "teko": this side is right, that side is right. We'll find a way to live the question for now. And bimhera, soon, soon, in our days, it will all come clear.
Beautifully put. That's exactly how I felt after hearing Amos Oz speak at Holy Blossom.
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